Archetype
by Weynon Priory
Summary: A heartfelt account of the MQ storyline from the perspective of an inexperienced but earnest knight with far too many questions. Can one reason with a goblin? Is chivalry really dead? Is it really so odd to be genuinely good?


My name is Thatcher. I have no pedigree, no lineage, and no last name.

My mother left me on the doorstep of a monastery when I was a week old. She left only a note.

Years later, when I was old enough to sneak out of my bed at night and eavesdrop on the monks' hushed conversations, I learned that she had been a priestess at another Temple of the Nine. Whenever they spoke of her, their voices would get soft and sad, as if they were speaking of a princess fallen from grace.

I never asked the monks about her. I was content knowing that she had left me at the warm, comfortable Priory to ensure my safety. How a six-year-old knows these things, however, must be the intervention of the Nine themselves.

The Priory was nestled comfortably into the shoulder of the Valus Mountains. It was built with the same white-gray, crumbling granite that gave the peaks their strength. The monks that resided there were elderly and kind, and all Dunmer. When I was young, I used to believe that the head of the Priory, Brother Maros, was the oldest person alive.

My days at the Priory were long and happy. I was free to get up whenever I pleased, save Sundas, when I was required to attend prayer. Most mornings were spent playing in Brother Thierry's garden, pretending to fight off goblins and daedra.

The monks taught me to read and write early on. If I wasn't running amongst the scanty pine trees in the shadow of the mountains, I would be in the library, absorbing book after book. Most of the books in the Priory's sparse library were about the Nine Divines, Aedra, Daedra, and so on. My favorite, however, was a battered copy of The Cake and the Diamond.

The monks adored and spoiled me. Brother Oufel would sneak me extra sweetcakes after dinner. Brother Maros often ordered new books along with the supplies from Mournhold, grumbling that he needed to do extra 'research.' Later, a new tome would appear on my pillow. I was happy and loved.

When I was ten, another boy arrived at the Valus Priory. I spotted him first—I had been out front near the well, picking mushrooms for Brother Antus' alchemy. As I was putting an especially perfect one in my knapsack, I heard footsteps on the dirt path. I looked up and squinted in the afternoon sun. My heart gave an enormous jolt—it was a kid! He couldn't have been older than twelve.

I immediately sprang to my feet and ran out to meet him. He was dressed like a fine little lord, with silver embroidering on his jacket and silly bangles on his pants. I overlooked the fact that he had dirt all over his face and his pants were torn badly.

"Welcome to Valus Priory!" I grinned, extending my hand. He looked at it disdainfully and then flopped his hand over mine. I stared at him for a moment, wondering what sort of strange greeting this was. Maybe he was from Black Marsh?

"Are you going to bow or not?" he asked. I snickered and grabbed his hand, shaking vigorously.

"Funny joke, friend!" I laughed. He didn't look amused. "I'm Thatcher. What's your name?"

"Fervas Hlervu," the boy said imperiously, flashing his eyes in my direction. "Will you take me to the Priory?"

"Well it's right there, come on!"

And I grabbed his hand and ran, dragging him along with me. Fervas did not seem happy to be dragged. He probably had never been dragged in his life, but I ignored the looks of discomfort on his face.

I burst into the church were I knew Brother Maros would be praying. Fervas seemed appalled that I would kick open the doors of any building, let alone a temple.

"Brother!" I called excitedly, my voice echoing off the white-gray stone. I saw Maros get up from his place at the altar and turn slowly. "We have a visitor! His name is Ferris Huhlarva—"

"Fer-vas Hler-vu!" he corrected me, looking suddenly embarrassed in the presence of Brother Maros. He inspected Fervas shrewdly, the frown lines around his mouth deepening.

"What brings you here, Fervas?" he asked at length.

"I…I want to become a monk," Fervas whispered. He dug a letter out of his pocket and held it out for Brother Maros, who read it minutely.

"You want to pledge yourself to the Nine?" the old monk murmured, almost, seemingly, to himself. "It is nothing less than a miracle that you did not relinquish yourself to the Tribunal instead, given your location."

"What was your location?" I interrupted. Brother Maros gave me a warm look and shook his head.

"Thatcher, you can ask Fervas all the questions you want later. Go gather those mushrooms or Brother Antus will box your ears." He pushed me gently out into the sunlight. "Young Fervas, however, will come with me to speak with the other monks."

I watched as they entered the Priory, talking quietly.

I hastily picked the rest of the mushrooms, uncaring whether they were perfect or not. My mind was racing—I had a new friend! I had so many questions for him.

After my knapsack was full, I went inside for dinner. Fervas wasn't there, and neither were a few of the other monks. My excitement couldn't be quelled; I would wait until bedtime to ask my questions.

Fervas was not keen to talk, I soon found out. He was sitting in the little cot opposite mine in the nursery. A thick book about the god Stendarr was open on his lap.

"Hi, Fervas!" I said cheerfully as I climbed into my bed. He grunted a hello and turned a page in his book. "Are you a monk now?"

"I have to learn a lot of things first," he said, pointing at his book.

"Ahhh. I see." I watched him read for another moment. "Where do you come from?"

"Mournhold," Fervas said shortly.

"What's that like?"

"Nice, I suppose." He turned another page.

I leaned forward eagerly. "Did you walk here all by yourself?"

"I had an escort for part of the way; then we got attacked by a highwayman."

This was too much for me to handle—I laughed excitedly and spewed out some more questions.

"Where? Did he get you too? How did your escort die? Or did he run away and leave you for dead?"

Fervas looked up at me, his red eyes narrowed. "I'm trying to read."

"…Oh. Right." I leaned back on my pillow. I watched him for a few moments, taking in his bluish skin and dark hair. He seemed to be perpetually frowning.

The silence was getting to me. "Can I ask one more question?"

Fervas grimaced and looked as though he was considering chucking his book at my head. "Yes, but only one more."

"Why do you wanna be a monk?"

"To serve the Nine, of course. Why do _you_ want to become a monk?"

I blinked, confused. "I don't wanna be a monk."

Now Fervas was confused. He was no longer frowning, and his eyes had become round in his bewilderment. "Then, why are you here?" he asked.

I couldn't answer that. It haunted me long after I turned over to go to sleep, and then again when I woke up the next morning. For someone with so many questions, I had very few answers.

Fervas became a monk only two years later. After this happened, he began to urge me to begin my religious studies, too.

I tried to break to him gently that I had no desire to give up a free life to serve the Nine, faithful as I was.

"I don't understand, Thatcher," Fervas started one morning after Sundas prayer, "why you won't take up the Oath. The only difference would be your clothes—your lifestyle is already very…secular."

"Naw, Brother Oufel would make me stop playing in the garden because I'd get my robes all muddy," I joked. "But that's not the point."

"What _is_ the point then?" he asked huffily, walking up the front steps of the Priory and into the shade.

"I want my freedom."

"And you do nothing with it except hang around this monastery and drive the monks crazy! If you value your freedom, why don't you embrace it and leave?" He gestured to the plains of Morrowind that stretched out before us.

"It's a nice feeling to know that if I want to leave, I can," I told him. "Right now, I choose to stay here."

Fervas threw up his hands exasperatedly. "Yeah, for a free meal and a warm bed. You know, I'm not the only one here who thinks you should become a monk."

"Brother Marus doesn't think I should," I smiled. "And I think I'll go with his word above the others."Fervas turned to go inside. "Oh, and another thing!"

"What?" he snapped, turning sharply.

"If I were to leave, I wouldn't bother heading that way," I said, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder. "I'd head west."

"To Cyrodiil?"

"To Cyrodiil."

"Good luck getting over the mountains. You'll probably die before ever setting foot in the Imperial City," Fervus sneered.

"You don't think the Nine would guide and protect me?" I asked, laughing.

"Maybe if you swore over to them—"

"Go on, Fervas, you have monk business to attend to," I laughed, pushing him inside. He grumbled incoherently to himself and slammed the door. I was left with my thoughts.

Were the other monks really getting tired of me? If they were, they showed no signs. The only monk who ever let on that he disliked me was Fervas.

He was right, however. I did enjoy practical jokes, and nicking food from the kitchen. Brother Marus had told me off more than once just that week, and I did have a habit of tracking dirt into the front hall. Was all this enough cause for resentment?

I shrugged these feelings off. I was still a child—I'd worry about earning my keep later.

Fervas' words never held any water. When I turned eighteen, I asked Brother Marus if I could begin working to earn my stay at the Priory. To my surprise, he laughed.

"Thatcher, you are like family. We can manage without your help," he said, smiling.

"But Brother Thierry isn't as young as he used to be—he gets awful backaches after working around the livestock. And whenever he does repairs, he complains about his joints—"

Brother Marus put up one, wrinkled hand. "My dear boy, Brother Thierry has been complaining about his aching back since he was a young man. What has caused this sudden change in you?"

I glanced over at Brother Fervas, who was absorbed in a large book in the corner of the library. Brother Marus understood immediately.

"Do not heed jealous voices," the old elf told me quietly. "Fervas has struggled with his devotion to the Nine all his life, and came to the conclusion that the only true path for him was a monastic one. But you, Thatcher, have never had any trouble with your devotion. You have great things ahead of you, and they cannot be achieved here."

"But Fervas—"

"Brother Fervas needs to understand that his path is not your path, or vice versa," Brother Marus said sternly. "Go your own way." He saw my continuing uneasiness and said, "If you must work, ask Brother Thierry yourself. I am certain he will have things for you to do."

He did, indeed.

"You wanna work?" Thierry asked incredulously, his eyes widening underneath his bushy gray brows. "Heh, silly kid. You'll do two honest days of work and go back to playing in the forest."

"I don't _play_, Brother Thierry," I grumbled. I felt my face go red.

The elderly Elf peered up into my face. "I need you to go to the crossroads to pick up our supplies. I would do it myself, but representatives from a Priory in Cyrodiil will be here this afternoon, and someone needs to greet 'em. Listen, there should be a man waiting there for you pay him with this," he handed me a small pouch, "and come straight back, d'you hear? No wandering off."

I was thrilled. I had never been that far from the Valus Priory before, and better yet, I would be able to meet foreigners that afternoon. I set off on the path with vigor, enjoying the yellow-green fields that stretched far into the horizon.

The sun was directly overhead when I arrived at the crossroads, and the sky was clear and blue. A young Dark Elf was sitting on a low rock, staring steadily at the mountains behind me.

"Hi!" I said cheerfully. He merely grunted in return. I handed him the pouch of coins and he gave me the satchel at his side. Without a word, he sulked down the eastern path that led towards Mournhold.

"Bye!" I called, wondering where he would be heading next. I stood on the rock where he'd been sitting and squinted eastward. I felt a jolt of excitement. There, on the horizon, was a shining, gleaming sliver of water. It was the Inner Sea! Beyond that would be Vvardenfell, and the holy city of Vivec.

I gazed at the far-off sea for a long time, imagining the people and places I'd read about. When the sun began to beat down too brutally on my neck, I turned and set off for the Priory once more.

Now I was facing the mountains, tall and fierce. I wouldn't glimpse what was beyond them until I tried to climb them. How could I do that without proper clothing and supplies? And what if I ran into something that wanted to eat me? What could I do, pray at it? I'd need a weapon, too.

Maybe the visiting monks would take me back to Cyrodiil with them; no doubt they had scouts or guards traveling with them for protection. Would they be reserved about bringing along another mouth to feed?

I was so enthralled with the mountains and my travel dreams that I nearly fell over into the Priory's well. I chuckled at my own clumsiness and looked around to see if anyone saw me. The yard was empty.

I frowned. Something wasn't right; Brother Thierry seemed a bit worried when he sent me off on the errand. He would have stayed out on the front steps to see that I came back safely, and to receive our visitors.

The front door of the Priory pushed open easily, as it hadn't been closed entirely. My frown deepened and I bounded up the stairs to Brother Maros' study.

"Brother Maros, you'll never guess what I saw when—"

But my voice failed me. I felt the satchel slip from my fingers.

Brother Maros was slumped forward onto his desk. I ran forward, my heart pounding wildly and my body numb.

"Maros, wake up!" I tried to pull him up, but my fingers slipped on his robes—there was blood everywhere. A coldness stretched from my heart as I realized he was dead.

"Help!" I yelled hoarsely.

I heard the door to the study slam open and I turned around. I was expecting to see one of the other monks, but instead, I beheld the strangest person I'd ever seen.

An Imperial man stood on the threshold. His silver-white armor gleamed even in the dim candlelight. A seedy-looking monk, also Imperial, slipped past him into the room and stared at me, horrified.

"What happened here?" the armored man asked in a loud, commanding tone.

At first, I couldn't answer. I had never seen a white man in my life, save my own distorted reflection in my water basin. Their skin was whiter than mine. The tall man grunted loudly and I was jarred from my thoughts.

"…I came back from an errand and I found him like this," I said quietly, holding back tears. Grown men didn't cry, and that's what I was, right?

"The murder weapon," the thin monk rasped, pointing at a bloody dagger on the desk. I hadn't noticed it in my grief.

"Have you killed this man?" the armored man asked me sternly, distrust flashing in his eyes. I felt my mouth drop open in shock.

"What? No!"

"And have you murdered all the other monks in the Priory?" the little monk wheezed. "They have all gone to the Nine."

My body felt like ice. I had forgotten to check on the other monks. What had happened to my family in the twenty minutes I that had been gone?

"No! I was—"

"Your hands are covered in blood. You are the only suspect here. Cooperate, young man," the tall Imperial commanded, "or I will have to use force."

"What are you talking about?" I shouted. "I didn't do this!"

"Are you resisting arrest?" He took a threatening step forward, his hand on the long sword at his side.

"What in Oblivion are you talking about? Are you crazy?"

That, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say. The armored man swung out his sword and hit me across the head with its gleaming, silver hilt. A ringing sound filled my ears and I was plunged into darkness.


End file.
